The attention of
visitors was at once attracted by the number of gold and silver
cups, vases, and statuettes scattered about on side-tables and
cheffoniers. Each of these objects bore an inscription, setting
forth that it had been won at such a race, in such a year, by such
a horse, belonging to the Marquis de Valorsay. These were indeed
the marquis's chief claims to glory, and had cost him at least
half of the immense fortune he had inherited. However, Pascal did
not take much interest in these trophies, so the time of waiting
seemed long. "Valorsay is playing the diplomat," he thought. "He
doesn't wish to appear to be anxious. Unfortunately, his servant
has betrayed him."
At last the valet returned. "The marquis will see you now,
monsieur," said he.
This summons affected Pascal's heart like the first roll of a drum
beating the charge. But his coolness did not desert him. "Now is
the decisive moment," he thought. "Heaven grant that he may not
recognize me!" And with a firm step he followed the valet.
M. de Valorsay was seated in the apartment he usually occupied
when he remained at home--a little smoking-room connected with his
bedroom. He was to all intents busily engaged in examining some
sporting journals. A bottle of Madeira and a partially filled
glass stood near him. As the servant announced "Monsieur
Maumejan!" he looked up and his eyes met Pascal's.
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